The morning air was chilly. Solene pulled her thin shawl closer around her shoulders as she sat up on the small wooden bed. The attic she slept in was poorly lit, with light coming in only through the gaps in the roof. Dust particles floated in the air, moving with every breath she took. She let out a soft sigh, staring at the ceiling for a while before making herself get up.
Her stomach growled as she stood up, a reminder that she hadn't eaten much the previous day. That was usual. Hunger was a normal feeling, one that she had learned to ignore. There was no time to think about it. She had to work if she was going to eat that day.
She splashed her face with icy water from a tiny basin, wincing as the cold bit into her flesh. Outside, the kingdom of Velmora was awake, the calls of merchants announcing their prices and carts rumbling down the cobblestone streets ringing through the air. Another day of fighting, another day of living.
Solene walked down the noisy stairs and into the noisy marketplace. The smell of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air and made her stomach hurt. She looked away and focused on where she was going: the tailor shop where she was employed. It was not much, but it was enough to get her by.
"Solene, you're late," said the tailor, Mistress Lira, as she walked. Her eyes were sharp, but she was not really angry.
"Sorry," Solene muttered, sitting down quickly at the wooden table covered with scraps of cloth. She picked up a needle and thread, allowing her hands to work on their own, sewing together pieces of cloth in the same way she had done many times before.
Time went by. The labor was hard, but Solene was used to it. She had her head down, listening to the sounds outside, wondering what life was like beyond the busy streets of Velmora. Some were born to live in luxury, with pricey cloth to wear, with warm food to consume. Others, like herself, were born to toil. That was just the way of things.
A bell rang as the shop door swung open, and a wealthy woman came in, her silk garments swishing with every step. Solene looked up before looking down again. The woman gave Mistress Lira a bundle of fine material, and as they spoke, Solene found herself listening in.
"An additional gown for the banquet," said the woman, her tone airy. "I hear Lord Vernar will be attending, and you know how necessary it is to make an impression."
Mistress Lira smiled as she looked at the fabric. "It will be ready in three days."
Three days. One dress that Solene had never paid so much for. She tried to keep her hands occupied, but her mind wandered. What would it be like to live like that? Never to have to worry about food, to have influence, to be somebody?
The woman rushed off, and the day continued. As the sun began to set, Solene saw a little boy lingering at the doorway of the shop. His clothing was torn, and his face was dirty. His big eyes were fixed on a basket of bread that a vendor had placed next to him. Solene saw him hesitate, then slowly reach out his hand, his fingers grazing the bread crust.
"Hey! Thief!" cried the merchant, advancing.
The boy tried to run, but he was not fast enough. The seller grabbed his arm and shook him vigorously.
"Please, I.I was just hungry," the boy stammered.
Solene felt a pang in her chest. She recognized that hunger. She knew what it meant to be desperate. Without even realizing it, she reached her hand into the small pouch around her waist. There were just a few coins in it, not nearly enough for her next meal, but before she could stop herself, she stepped forward.
"I'll pay for it," she said, offering him the coins.
The trader scowled and muttered under his breath, but Solene caught what he said. "Damn hollown." He took them from her grasp before letting go of the child. The child stared at her in surprise.
"Go," she whispered. He nodded hastily and set off, holding the bread tightly to his chest.
Solene watched him disappear into the crowd. She had just spent everything she had, and now she wasn't certain she had enough for herself.
She breathed deeply and faced the direction of the tailor shop once more, but something diverted her attention. A procession of guards was marching down the street, their black uniforms in contrast to the dust-colored background of the market. They were not here on a regular round. They were searching for someone.
She looked down and moved out of the way as they went by. She had seen this happen before. They took some people away, sometimes thieves, sometimes protesters against the king. It was best not to be noticed.
As she continued inside, she caught another conversation. This time between two men who were outside the shop.
"Another rebel was arrested last night," said one.
"The king won't tolerate this much longer," the other said. "He'll incinerate the entire Hollows if he must."
Solene trembled. She didn't know a lot about politics, but she knew this: Velmora was not a safe city. Not for people like her. Not for anyone who lacked power.
That night, as she rolled back onto her cot, she looked up at the cracked ceiling. She had always existed to survive and get through the day.
She shut her eyes and was ready to fall asleep.
Yet a noise in the street outside her made her anxious; she could hear the footsteps of soldiers in boots patrolling the city. She heard a shout in the distance, but it suddenly stopped. She curled up her side into a ball and closed her eyes tightly. I wasn't her concern. She couldn't allow herself to care.
Velmora was a city of suffering and power, divided into rigid social classes that determined one's fate from birth.
At the very pinnacle was The High Ring, a place of incredible privilege and wealth, where the powerful and wealthy practiced amazing magic. Warlords, mystics, and sorcerers lived in their high rises, and their authority was complete. They did not concern themselves with the world outside of their realm, a world of lesser people to be governed.
Below them was The Merchant Quarter, which was inhabited by craftsmen and merchants. These were people with useful but less potent abilities. Their magic helped them in the tools they made and the goods they traded. They were more prosperous than common people, but they were still required to follow the High Ring's rule and suffer taxes, bribery, and corruption.
And then there was The Commons, where the vulnerable, the Hollows, fought to stay alive. They were born without power or had powers so feeble as to not even be worth considering. They were lesser persons. They worked in the forges, the fields, and the kitchens, in service to those who had actual power. It was naive to want more. To fight against this was to court death.
Beyond the city, close to its edge, lay the Slag Grounds, home to criminals, outcasts, and men and women who had lost their good reputation. It was here that the notorious Gladiator Pits were located, making men and women fight for their lives, their misery a sport for the rich. They claimed the greatest warriors were made in the pits, but not many survived long enough to prove it.
Solene knew her place. A Hollow girl didn't have a future, only an endless spiral of suffering.